Disclaimer: I do not own Batman.
Gotham City Orphanage was a secluded place, almost unnoticeable until one saw the yellow sign with painted hand-prints that said Gotham City Orphanage: Est. 1939. The front yard was duller than the sign, with only a lone red ball on its grass. Despite that, the orphanage itself was nicer to look at and had fairly normal qualities: average-sized white windows, red brick walls, three stair-steps that led to the arch door, a tall fence, among other things.
It was night, and the living room of the orphanage held a group of seven that was fighting over the TV remote.
"It's mine!"
"No, it's mine!"
"Can we just get this over with already and turn something else on?"
"NO!"
"Come on!"
"Give it here!"
"Shut up!"
Behind the ruckus was another who stared at the fire. Her arms hugged her legs in the warmth, and the orange and yellow lights reflected in the girl's glasses. She was still exhausted from last night, though no one else knew why she was. It was for the best that way. The last thing she needed was to be arrested if anyone found out what she did.
Bonnie Hatch, now twelve years old, looked behind. Channels flickered across her brown eyes as the others fought what to watch. The game show channel, the kids' network, the cooking channel, and primetime shows flashed every second. Bonnie was about to turn back to the fire until an anchorman tidied his papers on his desk. When he looked to his viewers, one of the kids turned on a cartoon, and Bonnie was left with a cold feeling in her stomach. She always caught on with the news to see if there was any coverage on anything she did. It was inevitable that some of her activities would be talked about, but Bonnie always worried if investigators really wanted to get on her case. Batman, particularly, would find her if her sprees became too noticeable to the public eye. She hoped he was focused on someone else—any criminal but her.
Bonnie stood up. The battle over the remote still rampaged, but she needed to get in there. She had to see what the anchor was saying.
Biting her lip, she walked over to the twins. They didn't notice her until she snatched the remote from their hands.
"Hey!" the two twin boys shouted. Bonnie raised her eyebrows apologetically as she changed the channel. Despite having hurt many people in her life, she didn't like whenever her rare irritable mood got in the way of other people, directly. Indirectly causing harm was a bit of a different story, though she tried not to think about the collateral damage too much.
I'll apologize to them later, she thought, as Gotham Cable News came on. I was being rude.
The oldest orphan by the couch sighed in relief.
"Thank you," she said, looking at Bonnie. She nodded, trying to be stoic.
"I only need this on for a minute," she said, sitting down on the couch. The other children beamed.
"HA!" three of the kids yelled, pointing at the oldest. She rolled her eyes, drifting her attention to the television. Everyone else grumbled before their eyes wandered to the screen.
"In other news, the Joker is still not stopping his rampage through Gotham City," said the anchorman. He was sweating in his suit, either from the newsroom's heat or fear.
The older girl—Jenny, Bonnie remembered—groaned. Several of the others did the same.
The youngest—Darla—squeaked and pulled down at her dark bob cut, more terrified than most of the kids. Everyone else didn't pay attention to her, especially the blonde twins that were babbling among themselves. Even then, they glanced back and forth at the television, and they even quieted down when Jenny gave them a hard glare.
Bonnie, on the other hand, was simply in her own little world with the screen, and she leaned forward.
"Five car explosions planted by none other than this rogue have killed nineteen people," the anchorman continued, fixing his collar. "The sixth clown bomb, which was found near City Hall, was fortunately diffused. Seven people were found dead in an alley from Joker venom a half-hour ago."
Pictures of blurred blood from the alleyway cut across the screen. Darla cowered under her blue blanket, and one of the quiet kids—Skipper, Bonnie believed—winced.
"Police forces say that they will bring the Joker into custody immediately…"
Darla pumped her fists underneath her blanket, a smile lighting up her face.
"Hooray!" she cheered. Most of the orphans ignored her, but Bonnie had to stop herself from raising an eyebrow.
No, they won't, she thought. The Joker can easily escape from the police. He's too strong for them, and the police in this city can't do anything about the rogues, anyway.
Jenny seemed to have similar thoughts, for she growled something underneath her breath. Nobody cared to hear her, and they instead paid attention to the anchorman fixing the papers on his desk.
Clearing his throat, he said, "Among other criminals…"
Bonnie scrunched her nose as a strain of her red hair fell in front of her eye.
I hope they don't catch me, she thought, as a picture of fire transitioned by the corner of the TV.
"A multi-alarm fire last night is now under investigation as an arson," said the anchorman. "Occurring near Amusement Lane, the fire destroyed three apartment buildings and damaged several others. Miraculously, no one has died, but thirty-one people were injured."
Bonnie bristled as a video of firemen extinguishing the flames played. She felt a twinge of guilt whenever other people were trapped, but the thrill in the moment was stronger than the remorse afterward. The contempt she harbored for other civilians, letting themselves be stepped on like she had been once, dimmed the guilt to a shadow. It helped Bonnie push any casualties to the back of her head, and her worry instead turned to the possibility of being caught.
"The perpetrator is still unknown," said the anchor, "but they say that they will be quick to find this individual."
Bonnie stopped herself from sighing. She hoped she would remain unknown, just like she had for the last two years. All it took was one slip-up for her to get caught, and she would have known if she made a mistake. Luckily for her, that hasn't happened, and she changed her methods and plans every time. It took planning, and she had to go on a cooling period so that the authorities wouldn't accelerate their investigation. Hopefully, they suspected she was separate people, and that succeeded sometimes. They even thought she was a rogue who had escaped from Arkham. It was a relief whenever reporters thought she was Firefly, though she was never quite sure what to think when they mistook her for the infamous criminal. Firefly was in Arkham, though, so Bonnie didn't have him to hide behind. Every rogue except the Joker and Harley Quinn was inactive, which meant that Bonnie needed to be extra careful next time. Even though she diverted investigators onto other leads, the police and the media started theorizing at least a couple of times that a new serial arsonist was at large.
The girl was so lost in thought that she didn't notice a hand dig in hers. As quickly as that happened, the channel flashed over.
Bonnie turned, and her eyes widened. The twins grinned at her, and one swayed the remote in front of her face.
"The minute's over!" they hollered. Bonnie stared at them as a second fight began, leaving the girl to plot alone in the chaos.
In another hidden corner of the city, a warehouse stood absently with only the orange street lamps gazing down at the empty lot and the muddy excuse for a lawn nearby. The neon letters on the structure did once glow a purple 'HA'—and the colors splattered on the outside used to reflect the colors of the rainbow—yet all of that had dimmed and faded away, like the rest of the building had.
The interior was a slightly different story. Much of the area seemed dull with many unopened boxes and packages, but the main room was impressively foreboding with a tall caged window gleaming down at a messy table below. Angular walls glared down at any who entered, but what was most sinister was the garishly colored spotlights that tricked the eye into seeing pops of blue, yellow, purple, and blood. It was only when two figures burst from the tall doors that the purple and blood stopped looking like an illusion, and it was only when the smiling faces from the figures became visible that the spotlights did not seem as sinister.
Only the Joker and Harley Quinn were able to make their nightmarish surroundings look pleasant compared to them, and only the Joker was able to make those spotlights squeak and flare up with his laugh.
"Harley, baby, I just love giving this city wedgies!" exclaimed the man, his eyes glowing red. Instantly, he picked up the woman beside him bridal style. Harley's happiness turned to delirium when the Joker spun her around like a doll, and all she could do for a short moment was flail her arms around like one.
"Ooh, so do I, Puddin'!" said Harley, kicking her legs in the air. The Joker laughed with uncanny lightness, and it was at that moment that Harley realized that she was the luckiest she had ever been in years. It wasn't every day that her boss seemed to be in such a romantically happy mood, and it certainly wasn't every day that it would happen on the day of a normal spree.
Seeing that as a chance to do something a little romantic herself, Harley's puppy look turned down into a playful sultriness, and her face dangerously neared his.
Her two fingers walking up the Joker's arm, she purred, "Hey, Mistah J, why don't you say that we—"
The Joker laughed, before replying, "No."
He dropped Harley, who squeaked as she landed roughly. She was surprised that she didn't hear him laugh at her expense as she lay on the floor, but he only gave her a squinting glare when she looked up.
Aw, does he have to get in a rough mood now? thought Harley, rubbing her bottom. He was so great a minute ago!
Just after that thought, the Joker's gaze turned somewhat brighter, and his hand slowly reached out for hers. Squealing, Harley immediately forgot about what she was thinking about before, and she grabbed his hand.
The Joker pulled her up, and Harley looked up at him. A smirk tugged at his lips as the woman squeezed his hand.
"Oh, Harls," said the Joker, his irises flaring. "Sometimes, you can just be so selfish."
Harley's eyes dimmed a little.
"Aw, Mistah, J, you know I didn't mean it like—" Harley stopped talking when the Joker raised a finger.
"So selfish, Harley-girl," the Joker went on, grinning to himself. "So spoiled. It's like you're not even acknowledging what I'm about to do for you—what I thought about—on your behalf."
Now, Harley's eyebrows were furrowing in question.
"What do ya mean, Mistah J?" Harley asked. The Joker simply giggled, yet his laughter was so controlled that it sounded darker than it usually did.
"Come now, Harley," he said, shaking his head at her. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't you?"
The woman paused, but she eventually managed a shake of the head.
"No?" he said, lowering his voice. "Well, then your IQ level might be lower than the kid's will be."
Harley's heart beat once.
"The kid?" she said, her voice becoming high-pitched. "What are ya sayin', Puddin'?"
The Joker tsked as Harley shook.
"Dear Harley," he said, "you always went on talking about wanting one of those, correct-a-mundo?"
Harley stared at him, watching the Joker take the purple fedora off his head. He placed it on his chest, and that move would have made him look like he was mourning a loss to anyone else—that is, except Harley. She knew that there was a glint of mischief and even sincerity in his eyes, and any sincerity from her beau was enough to make her brain jam up. Harley's thoughts began to swirl even further down as the Joker circled around her like a vulture, and she swooned when his hands grazed her shoulders.
He murmured, "Though we shouldn't go through the beauty of childbirth, of course..."
Harley's heart dropped like she was deprived of something special, but she nodded her head, regardless. As much as she wanted to have a little Joker of their blood running amuck, Mistah J probably didn't want a hassle. He might have thought of a little person inside his best worker as being an obstacle to her working for several months at best or a disposable object at worst. Of course, Harley never thought of any child like that, but her Mistah J did. And her Mistah J was always right, anyhow, so he must have been right about something like this.
Harley was about to sigh in disappointment at that, but it wasn't long until her head clicked at remembering the word 'though' and at seeing that glint in the Joker's eyes.
"But it would be nice to have a big, happy family," he said. Harley's heart immediately soared back up again, and her brain and her fists were vibrating so madly that she didn't see the Joker sneak up in front of her until it was too late.
"Which is why!" he yelled, making Harley flinch.
Seeing his moll recoil, the Joker's grin crept back up his face, and he put his hand on the woman as he slid behind her again. She melted underneath it.
"Which is why..." the Joker's voice softened, successfully bringing a happy chill up Harley's spine.
The man jumped in front of her again a split second later.
"We should borrow one."
His nose bumped into Harley's, giving her a view of his face. There was a scheming glint in his eyes, but Harley wouldn't have cared. Instead, she screamed with joy, and the Joker unchained his laugh.
Around the same time the Ace of Knaves laughed, the same group of children downstairs in the orphanage flinched.